


Tuesday Night

by Deathbyswoon



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4468118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathbyswoon/pseuds/Deathbyswoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Fenris attend the party's weekly Wicked Grace night. </p>
<p>Small vignette of drunken antics. Hawke and Fenris romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuesday Night

**Author's Note:**

> Taking place between Acts 1 and 2.

The evening air was cool as Hawke strolled into Lowtown with Fenris alongside her. They walked in relative silence to the Hanged Man, stopping occasionally when the odd noise raised their caution. Some night birds called out from above into the still street.

Since she had moved into the Hightown estate, Fenris had taken to collecting her on the group's Wicked Grace nights. For company and safety, he reasoned. Hawke agreed; apart from Aveline, Fenris knew the dark streets of Hightown better than any of her companions. With the dangers the night posed, an extra sword was never unwelcome. The heat of his lean body beside her didn't hurt either.

"Getting rid of that gang has really made these walks enjoyable." she sighed happily.

"I thought you might miss cleaning up the streets." he replied in his usual tone.

"Well, you can only kill so many people before you tire of it, Fenris." she smirked.

"Do you?"

Hawke chuckled slightly, before falling silent. She hadn't given answer. He glanced her way, registering her nostrils flare in silent breath.

They reached the door to the Hanged Man, the chatter and jovial music bleeding into the street as a drunkard stumbled out into the night. Hawke caught the door before it closed. Her eyes glazed over as she surveyed the tavern, observing a tussle at the table nearest the door. Fenris frowned at her face illuminated by the fires. Her body was stone still, paralysed. A common occurrence, he noted. Though it was usually over the fresh corpses of their enemies. He regretted his question.

"Hawke."

Her trance broke immediately, without a hint of acknowledgment.

"Let's not get too drunk this time." Her eyes meeting his with a playful smile. It was not the time to press the issue, clearly.

"No promises." he countered with a chuff.

The usual pleasantries were exchanged. Varric welcomed them both with open arms as they approached the table nestled at the back of the tavern. This week, word had gotten around Lowtown that when she was a young girl, Hawke had rescued a Chantry sister from a den of bears. Hawke dryly wondered where that tale had originated.

"A reliable source." Varric postured, relishing his mischief.

"Uh-huh." She shook her head, smiling.

Isabela sat at the head of the table, trailing her gaze at the distance between Hawke and Fenris, which had been gradually closing over the last three years. Seated on her right was Merrill, who waved happily, her hand clutching yet another book Varric had let her borrow from his library. Anders stood to offer Hawke a seat beside him, which she always fluidly declined. She took up her usual spot beside Merrill; Fenris sat beside her, facing opposite Isabela. Aveline was absent this week, her spot in between Hawke and Merrill still holding authority. Varric was the last to sit down, a chesty blockade between Blondie and the Elf.

Isabela was eager to begin the game, unabashedly greedy for the few sovereigns and silvers everyone kept on hand. She turned her nose up at bronze pieces, insisting that they be used for drinks instead. Merrill cheerily nattered with her as Isabela's nimble hands shuffled the cards. Drinks were ordered; coin was won and lost. Merrill surprised everyone by winning a few hands. Isabela beamed in delight as her pupil gathered up a neat pile. Anders eyed Hawke all night, sometimes forgetting his turn. He would clumsily shuffle and straighten his cards to hide his embarrassment. Varric coaxed stories out of everyone.

More drinks. Hawke won back her lost sovereigns, and slid some silver between Fenris and Merrill to keep them in the game. The warmth of ale crept into her cheeks as she played another winning hand.

"Are you cheating?" Fenris frowned over his cards, sculpted cheekbones flushed.

"Me? Never." purred Hawke. Giggles followed as she struggled to keep her head up.

"Show me then." He said as he leaned toward her. She snatched her cards away.

"That's not how you play the game!" She cried. Isabela and Varric traded amused looks. Anders snorted. Everyone was drunk.

Through the haze of alcohol, Hawke thought the night was going quite well. No one had started on about mages and templars, thank the Maker. Fenris had won a comfortable amount of coin to keep himself fed for the next few weeks, which she was grateful for. He would be too drunk to notice a few of her sovereigns slip into his winnings, regardless. She sat out the next few games, focusing on the chords one of the tavern minstrels plucked on their lute. She became fixated on the notes, her eyes drooping lower and lower. She crossed her arms over the table and dipped her head into the space it made. Sighing quite loudly, her mood drifting into a boozed up melancholy. Varric was having none of that.

"How about some wine, Hawke?"

She perked up at the mention of more drinks, as did Fenris. Varric wasn't letting the mood die - or the night end - so quickly.

"I've got a few bottles lying around my room, why don't you go get one."

"Me?" Hawke was puzzled, "I'm no connoisseur."

"I'll second that." added Fenris. He received a glare that was less that serious. Hawke focused her attention on Varric.

"Where exactly are these _fine_ specimens?"

"There should be a crate next to my study. Make sure no one's under my bed."

Hawke swayed when she stood, Merrill and Fenris holding out their arms to catch her. Anders braced himself, half-standing. She batted their hands away and trekked up to Varric's room.

The crate revealed itself immediately; the real task lay in picking the poison. Sitting cross-legged like a child, Hawke picked at the the selection. The bottles clinked together as she pulled them from the straw.

"Ah-gree-gee-ooooh," she slurred, "pa-vaaaaah-li."

That was the only wine she knew well enough, cursing that Fenris only ever seemed to be drinking it when she came to see him. Usually she took whatever alcohol she was presented with, but she felt Fenris would picky. Maybe he wouldn't be. The ale was muddying her thoughts.

"This is ridiculous. Just pick one." She breathed.

She had decided on a red labeled bottle when Fenris blew in like a small wind. She looked up over her shoulder, twisting slightly to see his features heightened by Varric's personal fire. He was irritated, but he couldn't hold his scowl as Hawke stared up at him serenely, with a smile that whispered his name in welcome. It twisted into a smirk.

"You seem to be taking your time." Bare feet thudded softly towards her, floorboard creaking under his last step at her back. Her gaze followed him, even as she felt his hair brush at strands of her own. Fenris bent over to inspect her choice, and she could feel his slow, hot breaths grazing her cheek and lips.

"Well, I am drunk." She turned her head back to the bottle. In its reflection she saw him regard her. His lips were parted, eyes flicking along her profile. The apprehension of his touch hissed softly for their lips to meet, for Hawke to just turn her head. She couldn't. Fenris hated being touched; it would be taking advantage, tempting him like that.

He wanted to trail his lips along her cheek, to relish a soft parting of her lips... His chest swelled; he knew he would recoil from any touch she offered. Would she recoil from his?

"Hawke..."

She shivered, signaling for the moment to end. Fenris stepped back to give her space as she stood. He cleared his throat, shaking off his brief fantasy. They were a tolerable distance from one another now; their shared heat dissipated. Hawke held the bottle firmly to her chest.

"Will this do?"

Fenris understood her.

"Yes." he lied.

They returned to the company of their friends a little sobered by the exchange. Hawke's self-imposed distance broke when Fenris sloshed drink her way to peek at her cards. She couldn't help flinging the cleaning rag at him, doubling up at his disgusted expression. Their elbows grazed each other frequently for the rest of the night, fostering sparks of micro excitement. Hawke thought she may have even felt his foot slide slowly against her shin, but when she turned a questioning glance his way, he just twitched a smile and downed another drink.


End file.
